Hold on Tight
by autumnnfyre
Summary: Alison is a Slave Beth is a Soldier Neither is Free (AU of An Ember in the Ashes)
1. Chapter 1

I: ALISON

Cosima gets home late, climbing in through our bedroom window with darkness nipping at her heels. She smells of smoke and metal and sweat. She smells like a long day, like a slow decline. She smells like the enemy.

Her sketchbook drops to the floor and she haphazardly kicks it under her bed. A cool wind blows through the room, wordlessly I get up and close the window behind her. Where have you been Cosima? In my head I have the courage to ask her. What have you been doing? Why do you keep disappearing? In my head my older sister trusts me enough to answer.

Every night for almost two years I've wanted to ask, and at first I did. But no amount of asking or yelling or crying would get her to answer. Eventually I just gave up. I have one sibling left, I don't want her to shut me out like she has everyone else.

But tonight's different. I know what's in her sketchbook, I know what it means. No more scared Alison. No more weak Alison.

"You shouldn't be awake" Cosima's heavy whisper jolts me from my thoughts and I turn around to face her. She bends down, her long fingers wrapping around a match and lighting our lamp, a warm glow quickly flooding the room.

"It was past curfew and three patrols have already gone by. I was worried."

"I can avoid the soldiers, Ali. Lots of practice." She rests her chin on the end of my bed, looking up and giving me a lopsided toothy grin. A familiar look- the one she gives me whenever I start lecturing her.

She picks up the book on my bed, "Gather in the Night" she reads the title.

"Spooky. What's it about?"

"I just started it. It's about a jinn-" I stop. Clever, but tonight I'm not that easily distracted. "Forget that. Where were you, grandfather had a dozen patients this morning." And I had to fill in for you because he can't handle that much on his own. Which left grandma to bottle the trader's jams all by herself. Except she couldn't finish, and now the trader won't pay us and we'll all starve to death this winter and you don't seem to care! I say those things in my head, but it doesn't matter. The smile's already dropped off Cosima's face.

She looks down and fiddles absent mindedly with her glasses. "I'm not cut out for healing, grandfather understands."

We both know that's a lie. Cosima's easily the smartest person I know, and mixing herbs and remedies comes naturally to her.

"Our family needs you Cosima. It's been months, at least talk to grandfather."

I wait for her to tell me that I don't understand, that this is bigger than us. But she just drop into her bunk, rubbing her temple and rolling over like she can't be bothered to answer.

"I saw your drawings." The words tumble out in a rush and Cosima's up in an instant, her face stony. "I wasn't spying" I say "One of the pages fell out."

"Did you tell anyone about this? Have our grandparents seen it?" Her eyes are wide with a fiery intensity.

"No but-"

"Alison listen." God, I don't want to hear this. I'm tired of her excuses. "What you saw is dangerous. You can't tell anyone about it." She says. "It's not just my life at risk here, there are others-"

"Are you working for Topside Cosima? Are you working for the Martials?"

She's silent. I think I see the answer in her eyes and I feel ill. My sister, a traitor to her own people? My sister siding with Topside? If she hoarded food or sold books or taught children to read, I'd be proud of her. I'd be proud of her for doing the things I'm not brave enough to do. Topside imprisons, even kills us for those 'crimes', but teaching a six year old her letters isn't evil, not in the minds of my people, the Scholars.

"Topside killed our parents." I whisper. "Our sister."

I want to shout at her, but I choke on the words. The Martials conquered Scholar lands 500 years ago, and since then they've done nothing but oppress and enslave us.

"How could you betray your family, Cosima?"

Her hands raise up, waving in anxious circles. "It's not what you think Alison, I swear I'll explain everything-"

She pauses unexpectedly, her hands freezing mid-rotation. Her head cocks towards the window and her eyes narrow. Suddenly the blood drains from her face and her eyes flash with fear. "Alison." She whispers. "Raid."

"But, if you're working with Topside-" Then why are the soldiers raiding us?

"I'm not working for them." She sounds calm. Calmer than I feel. "Hide the sketchbook Ali. That why they're here, it's what they want."

Then she's out the door, dreadlocks flying behind her. I stand there frozen, my body resisting all urges to move.

Usually, Topside raids in the heat of the day. They want to make a spectacle out of it, a warning for the Scholars living in the village. But the night raids are even worse. The night raids are for when Topside doesn't want witnesses.

I wonder if this is real, or if it's just some terrible nightmare. I've never broken the law in my life, I've done my best to stay away from any trouble. A peaceful life is all I ever wanted. But this is all too real, and I need to move. I won't just be Cosima's useless little sister.

I drop the sketchbook out the window and into a hedge. It's a poor hiding place, but there's no time to find anywhere better. Grandmother hobbles into the room, hurrying me with shaking hands out into the hall.

Cosima stands with my grandfather at the end of the hall, whispering and gesturing wildly with her hands. His face is stoic, betraying no fear. Silently he reaches into the kitchen and hands Cosima a large knife, metal glinting in the moon light. I don't know why he bothers. Against the Serric steel of the Martial blades, the knife will only shatter.

"You and Cosima leave through the back door." Grandmother says to me, eyes turning in searching arcs, "They haven't surrounded the house yet."

"Cosima" I breathe her name, stumbling as I head towards the door. I stop mid step, through the ragged curtains I catch a flash of liquid silver. My stomach clenches.

"A mask." Grandpa says, "They've brought a mask. Go Alison. Before he gets inside."

"What about you?" I wince as my voice cracks. "What about Grandma?"

"We'll hold them off." He says, gently shoving me towards the door. "Be safe, Alison. Listen to Cosima, she'll take care of you. Go." Cosima's shadow falls over me, and she grabs my hand as the door closes slowly behind us. She crouches to bend in the warm light, moving silently through the yard with a confidence I wish I had. I'm seventeen now, more than old enough to control my fear, but I grip her hand like it's the only thing left in the world.

I'm not working for them, Cosima said. Then who is she working for?

Somehow she got close enough to the forges to draw, in detail, the creation process of Topside's most precious asset. The unbreakable curved scims that can cut through three people at once. Half a millennium ago the Scholars crumbled under the Martial invasion because our blades shattered against their superior steel. Steel who's key to creation is written in my older sister's sketchbook.

Topside hoards its secrets like gold. Anyone caught near the forges without proper clearance, whether Scholar or Martial, risks execution.

If Cosima isn't with Topside, than how did she get near Serra's forges? How do the Martials know about her sketchbook?

On the other side of the house a fist pounds against the front door. Boots shuffle, steel clinks. I look around wildly, expecting the see the red capes of Topside Legionnaires in every corner. The cool night air chills the sweat rolling down my neck, setting all my nerves on edge. Distantly I hear the thud of drums from Dyad, the Mask training school. The sound sharpens my fear into a sharp point, stabbing at my heart. Topside doesn't send those silver-faced monsters on just any normal raid…

The pounding increases, becoming more and more incessant. "Under orders of Topside." An irritated voice booms, "We demand that you open this door."

As one Cosima and I freeze.

"Doesn't sound like a Mask." She whispers to me. "It's not soft enough. Masks don't give orders. In the time it'll take that dude to knock down the door, a Mask would already be inside the house."

Now's probably not the best time for her to go off on a tangent comparing the different types of people trying to hurt us. I look up into Cosima's eyes and ask the important question. "If the Mask's not at the front door, then where is he?"

"Don't be afraid Ali." Cosima says. "We'll make it out of this, I've snuck out of tighter scrapes."

I want to believe her, but my fear is a tide tugging at my ankles, pulling me under. I want to scream, or hit myself, anything to push away this feeling of helplessness. Cosima's standing there, so talented and capable, and I'm such a burden. Stupid scared Alison.

We reach the back gate. Cosima stands on her tip toes to unhook the latch, when a scrape in the alley beyond stops her short. A breeze blows past, sending a cloud of dust flying into the air. Cosima pushes me behind her. Her knuckles are white on the knife handle as the gate slowly moans open.

Fear shoots through me and it takes all my effort not to move, not to make single sound. I peer of my sister's shoulder into the alley. There is nothing out there but the quiet of the night sky, a soft breeze gently blowing through the air. I sigh in relief and step around Cosima.

That's when the Mask emerges from the darkness and walks through the gate.


	2. Chapter 2

II: BETH

The deserter will be dead before dawn. The dim light of the catacombs make the hurried tracks hard to see, but not invisible. The tunnels have done her in. The hot air is too heavy down here, the smells of death and rot too strong. The foot prints get wilder, more desperate the farther they go.

The tracks are over an hour old by the time I find them. If she's lucky she'll die in the chase, poor kid. If not…

Don't think about it. Hide the backpack. Get out of here.

Bones crumble and dust flies into the air as I shove the pack loaded with food and water into the wall crypt. Art would give me hell if he saw how I was treating the dead.

But then again if Art knew what I was really doing down here, desecration would be the least of his complaints.

He won't find out. At least not until it's too late. Guilt pricks inside me, but I push it back. Art's the strongest person I know, he'll be fine without me.

For what feels like the hundredth time, I look over my shoulder. It's too quiet down here, the silence leaves all my nerves on edge. The deserter led the soldiers in the opposite direction, but safety is an illusion I've learned never to trust.

I work quickly, piling bones and sand in front of the crypt to cover my work. All of my senses are primed for anything out of the ordinary. Only one more day of this. One more day of the constant fear, of the paranoia and lying. One more day until graduation. One more day until I'm free.

As I finish up hiding my stash I feel the air shift behind me. The smell of grass and snow cuts through the stuffy stench of the tunnel. Two seconds is all I have to step away from hiding spot and kneel, examining the ground as if I'm searching for some elusive tracks. Then he's at my back.

"Beth? What are you doing down here?" I can hear the accusation in his voice, practically see him narrowing his eyes at me.

I force my voice to remain level, add in a touch of annoyance to put him on the defensive. "Didn't you hear? There's a deserter loose." I keep my attention fixed on the floor. Beneath the silver mask that covers me from forehead to jaw, my face should be unreadable. But Art and I have been together almost every day for the 14 years we've been training at Dyad, he can probably hear me thinking.

He comes around me silently and I look up into his eyes, as dark and unreadable as usual. My mask sits atop my face, separate and foreign, hiding my features as well as my expression. But Art's mask clings to him like a silvery second skin, and I can see every slight furrow in his brow as he looks down at me. Relax, Beth, I tell myself. Stay calm, you're just looking for a deserter.

"She didn't come this way." Art says, suspicion lacing his words. "Tony took an auxiliary compound of the East Watchtower and into the Northern Tunnel. Do you think they'll catch her?"

Aux soldiers, though not as highly trained as Legionnaires and nothing close to Masks, are still merciless hunters. "Of course they'll catch her." I fail to keep the bitterness out of my voice and Art gives me a hard look.

"The cowardly scum." I add lamely. "Anyways, why are you awake? You didn't have watch this morning." I'd made sure of that.

"Those bleeding drums." Art looks around the tunnel, "They woke the whole school up."

The drums, of course. Thundering the news of a deserter, alerting everyone that all active units were to head to the walls. Art must have decided to join the hunt. Tony, my lieutenant, must have told him which direction I had gone. "I thought she might have come this way." I turn away from my hidden pack. "Guess I was wrong. I should go catch up with Tony."

"As much as I hate to admit it, you're not usually wrong." Art cocks his head at me, smiling. Once again that familiar feeling of guilt washing over me, punching at my gut. He'll be furious when he learns what I've done. He'll never forgive me.

Doesn't matter, you've decided. I can't turn back now.

Art traces the dirt on the ground with a dark, steady hand. "I've never even seen this tunnel before."

A drop of sweat slides down my neck. I ignore it. "It's hot and it reeks." I say, "Like everything else down in this hell hole." I want to add "Come on, let's get out of here." But that would practically scream that I was up to no good. I run a hand through my hair, fingers snagging when they reach the ponytail.

Art traces my blurred footprints, following them somehow to the crypt where I stowed my bag, to the bones piled in front of it. He's suspicious, and the air between us is suddenly tense.

Damn it. I need to distract him, fast. He stares at the crypt and I can practically see him figuring it out. If he sees the pack and guesses what I'm up to, I'm dead. He might hate doing it, but Topside law demands that he report me, and Art's never broken the law in his life.

"Beth-"

I prepare my lie. I just wanted to get away for a couple days Art. Didn't want to worry you. Just needed some time to think.

BOOM-BOOM-boom-BOOM

The drums.

Without thinking I translate the separate beats into the message they are meant to convey. Deserter caught. All students report to center courtyard immediately.

My stomach sinks. Some naïve part of me hoped that she would at least make it out of the city. "That didn't take long." I say. "We should get going."

I make for the main tunnel. Art follows behind me, as I knew he would. When the drums call, he listens.

I wonder what he would say if he knew what I was really doing in the tunnels.

I wonder how he'd feel about my hatred for Topside.

I wonder what he'd do if he found out his best friend is planning to desert.


End file.
